The God Who Loved Me
by dmlwel
Summary: A young woman finds herself working in a New Orleans hotel and captivated by a handsome stranger, only thing is he has a darker reason for trying to get to know her. Greek myths commonly spoke of Gods falling for mortals, but in this story, one will claim a mortal for a bigger purpose, with a very dangerous downside
1. Chapter 1

Here's what I know: life is far bigger than the ten percent of brain that is being used allows us to comprehend. I could put names to things, titles that would make things more understandable to others, but at the end of the day no name could ever fit such big things. Life is not just a set period between birth and death, it is the precursor to something that extends across planes and universes. Some call the center force God, Allah, Jehovah; the fact is the force has many names. The point I am trying to make is that that force is the biggest one, not the only one. There are others out there, among us, in café's with fresh vanilla coffee, in dress shops women pay thousands in just to look like a goddess for one night. Ironically what some used to call goddesses are watching these women mockingly, knowing how far from them they are in comparison. Beauty is not symmetry, it is the force you put out there and the good effects of that force. Goddesses are beings with forces to create a world of change good or bad. Man only judged some beautiful because they stood for love. Gods are great or evil because of how they choose to influence man. What force are you putting out there? Are you a good influence? Do you believe in things long forgotten and put to legend? Are you willing to see God, Gods and Goddesses for what they are? Just listen to the earth and feel its message, you will be able to see what is.

On a hot, humid day in Kenner, LA, I sit in the sand along the beach of Lake Ponchartrain and contemplate if it is possible to drown myself and escape what has come to me. The human body has an instinct to stay alive, but so many things lately have went against human instinct why shouldn't this? I no longer understand anything about the world I live in. I question every face waiting for a hint of lies that may hide behind. Humanity has never been alone, They have just been wrong about what has protected us.

Chapter one: Move to "The Cracks"

The floor is freezing cold in here, the insolation of this place probably went out along with the style of the house. Its freezing roaring December winds outside and there is no sight of warmth even from the sun or people walking around the neighborhood. For the first time since my decision to leave college, I wonder if my actions were to rash and disastrous.

I curl up on my new full-sized sleigh bed with a wooly blanket and a hot glass of Earl Grey Tea. My new home, which I call the Cracks, is old and broken yet filled with memories from family. Each crack in the floor here represents a footstep a relative made while staying here. I hope I stay here long enough to make my own cracks, to prove I was right about needing a change in my life. Real life is the only thing I have never had in my privileged life.

Light is growing dimmer outside, and I only have an hour or two before I must get ready for work at Lafitte Belle Hotel tonight. It's this old but true to New Orleans grandeur hotel my uncle landed me a job at. It has wall paper that has been maintained since the nineteen twenties the first time it was revamped. Star like chandeliers that sparkle in the high ceilings like stars in the night sky. A dark lobby and dining area lit by shimmering lights. A place made for the hoity toidy snobby individuals like the ones associated with my family. For once though, I will not be part of the crowd partying there, I will be the desk clerk checking the rich and ruthless in. I for the first time in my entire life will be the girl on the outside looking in.

There, wrapped in that rich purple wooly blanket, is where the dreamed found me. I was in the same place as many of my other re-occurring dreams, waking on a couch in the courtyard of a New Orleans hotel courtyard. A clock chimes, announcing two o'clock, and since it was dark, I assumed it was two am. The sky about clouded with breaks to show diagonal streaks of moonlight. Cold air, a blanket thinly covering me for warmth. I see the same black cloaked figure on top of the hotel I have seen in so many other dreams on so many other rooftops. I knew what it meant and what it was time to do. Finding a pipe on the side of the hotel I inched my way up placing footing tightly in the spaces in the wall till I reached the roof of the two-story side. He pulled me up, his pale face peaking through his shaggy black hair. Blue piercing eyes, enough to outshine any flashlight, focused on me and shot through straight to my soul.

"Take my hand," he whispers. I grasp his hand anticipating the same thing that happens every time I do, even craving it. There's a jolt, and the air is moving, we are moving. Upward, closer to the clouds that chill and dampen me. Breathing backwards is the only way to describe how it feels inside. my stomach is moved, loosely defying gravity by closing in on my heart, which is oddly calm. This is my peace. I feel myself up here, especially with him. No one can hurt me. No one can reach me. This is the only time my heart and soul are one, not arguing. The sky gets clearer, so I know he is going to let go of me and I prepare. Bye Bye grip, hello solitude. I am still at first, then focus on the feeling inside, the longing of my breathing defying earthly laws, the rushing air. Eyes open, and I am shooting up.

I start slowly, for there is no footing up here to feel one's way. I swerve slightly and then tightens up like a swimmer about to go for their best stroke. I begin to soar, the stars getting a little closer every second. I no longer needs to breathe, the atmosphere sustains me, even strengthens me. When I draw to the spot where the moon appears the biggest it has ever been, I slow to a calm stop. I looks for him, my guide. He is a short distance away, watching me. I can feel his happiness with me through the space between us. I was meant to do this, to soar, to be here with him. Space is vast and infinite but up here it is relatively a dome sized 3D model, everything closer, everything real and multi-sided and somehow alive. Space may have no air but I am above human needs now. I have become part of something much bigger, something much grander. Maybe all the philosophers I studied in college speaking of being at one with the universe have been here.

I have wondered many times if I was the only one who ever did this, levitated into space with him. Romantically that would be the ideal thought, me being his only one. He has been with me since childhood, taught me to soar, to let go of him at my most terrified moment. He has made me strong, able to control my body through the many atmosphere's of our universe without flipping drastically or falling. His gaze has been on me every moment I have spent up here, never letting me feel alone or in danger. I owe him my second life, the one I have up here. The other question I must ask is if I am his only one, his only student, so to speak?

Realistically I have to understand the chances of me being the only one to have been here are slim. There must be others like him, and therefore there have been many, many others like me. To be honest even though this journey has been special to me, I have never felt I was singular to it. I am not the only one.

With that thought my guide turns to me, almost reading my mind, and grins, flashing his glowing blue eyes. I grip my mind, because here comes the hardest part. No many how many times I have soared, this part does not get any easier. His head tilts down, a flash of his pale perfect skin. Down his face stares, Down I go.

Like being dropped on the tallest rollercoaster, first you feel gravity's pull. No control, no brakes, nothing to stop you from plummeting like a comet out of orbit. Each atmosphere rushing past you, each a different feel, a different cold or burn. Suddenly your stomach tries to grip anything, finding cushion near your heart and putting pressure on your throat. Breathing comes back, but not in a good way. My breath burns as I inhale, I am inhaling too fast. The light from earth is a blinding reminder of how big it is and how small I am. I am just one speck, falling back to where I came. Its freezing and even the cold is changing, it's becoming familiar. I see the foyer, I see the familiar fountain in the center of the stairs.

I feel the crash.

Shaking, I sit in up in my bed. Just what I need before my first night at work, my favorite soul-shaking reoccurring dream making me anxious.

I slowly find my limbs, the tingling of my fingers, the cold hitting my uncovered feet. I look at the clock reading 6:30 p.m. I have thirty minutes to get to work and I am out of uniform and look like a character off the Walking Dead television show. I grab my outfit, deodorize myself, the usual body upkeep follows. Pull my hair into a messy upper head bun, light makeup, clothes, then car. Time flies when you really don't have much of it.

Tchoupitoulas is slow and quiet as night traffic is slowing. I race along its worn down streets and around its historic dirt carved curves to the business district. New Orleans is waking up, for at night is when the city's soul comes to life. People walking the narrow streets of the business district, headed to their favorite bars. Tourists headed to world-famous French Quarter. Ghost hunters are going to haunted locations trying to prove the afterlife with the use of science, as if the feel of this city isn't enough. I have turned these turns and walked this streets a thousand times as a local, I have never seen this city from a non-local point of view, therefore I guess I don't appreciate it as much as a tourist can. To me, colorful, loud people are normal, open cafes with street musicians is normal brunch, and drunks are distant relatives. In a state that was made to place French criminals, we are all related, we all have a dark side I guess. Mine is coming out with ditching college it seems.

I turn into the parking garage that accommodates the Lafitte Belle Hotel, my new job to my new life. At least it's a beautiful hotel, I am not working at some prostitute hotel where drug deals out the window are part of the decorations. If prostitutes stay here, at least they will be classier and not so obvious, regardless of their lack of self-respect. I inform the doorman of my new job status, a duh moment as if he cannot see my name tag or uniform. He is friendly, shows me to the desk, my desk, which just so happens to overlook the hotel's courtyard. I am going to hell, even when I am bad, I am spoiled and lucky. My job is to overlook a beautiful courtyard, watch the rich and famous swim in a lit up, colored heated pool, and attend to their beck and call, even receiving tips occasionally.

"Hoping Brad Pitt is swimming in that pool or just you?" the doorman, now James to me, asks.

"No, can I have Channing Tatum, gotta be modern right? And hot. Do you ever get to really see celebrities here?

"More often than you are hoping, the hotel is famously private, and luxurious, therefore, a secret hot spot for the hot to come and hide", James says with a grin.

I can't imagine meeting someone famous, other than politicians like at my dad's famous parties. I have never encountered a famous face from out-of-town, I wonder what it would be like to look a famous actor in the eye. Would it be a apathetic glance, or would I be lucky enough for a meaningful one? Why do I care? Since when do I care about celebrities as if they are Gods among us? Wow, this hotel and its attitude gotten under my skin? I do not want to be one of those hotel greeters who are star struck. I also do not want to be one that tries to out snob them or be rude to them in any sense. At a time when I am trying to figure out who I am, I do not need a hotel like this helping mold me.

I settle myself behind my desk. About a week ago my manager Mrs. Cherri took me through my jobs version of boot camp so I knew my responsibilities and standards of the hotel well before I showed up tonight. I am ready for work, ready to be paid, ready for the real world, or so I hope. The list of special hotel guests is laying at the top of my desk, telling me what to do at the site of them and what their nightly room accommodations are. Room service here is far beyond the Holiday Inn, Swizz chocolates on the pillows, Irish mints in the nightstand, Champagne of their preference on the special guests' antique wine racks. Even thread count on the sheets are specialized for these people. I feel like a part of the Hampton's has settled into an old hotel in New Orleans. I am the girl who provides the good chocolates. This is new and fun…and lame.

The pool boy is preparing the pool in the courtyard for the night and those who come out then. A lot of different groups of people come out in New Orleans, ever color, belief, orientation, rich, poor, loud, and mimed. Here, the fancy make their appearances. For once in my life I am not the brat from the rich family, I am the invisible desk girl who gives treats on a pillow and is only their to keep the fancy up to fancy standards. The pool is glowing, lights changing in them like something from colorful fog in a Tim Burton movie, heck, maybe he designed the pool. I can see the steam of it in the cold, invoking in me a playful side, as I guess that is its purpose for people. On my days off I hope employees are allowed to swim. I would hope we would get to enjoy some benefits of working at this place. If not I am stealing their overseas mints. I have to rebel a little, right?

"Hello, Dorothy, do you have my coffee packet for my room?"

I look up to see this overdressed lady probably experiencing menopause as for there is no other excuse for that bad of style. I search the desk, on a lower shelf I find a package from C'lestiste Coffee Cup Comp. addressed to a Miss Halctiste. Handing off to her, I realized she was blocking a very nice view. A man, no later than late twenties or early thirties is relaxing on one of the many canopied couches in the courtyard. He handles his ceramic cup of what must be coffee very delicately, almost as if his whole body what performing one of those story telling dances. As strange as this man's vibe is, his allure seems to overpower any negative in him. I notice his shaggy yet sleek shiny black hair, slightly drifting over the side of his face creating a curtain effect, adding to his mystery. His eyes almost dangerously piercing, how could someone's eyes be so bright from a distance? This left me wondering of the color that could create that effect. He was tall, not too slim but not overly bulky either. Pale, not of creole descent, obviously. I found myself fixated on this wealthy guests and almost intruding on his personal space with my eyes.

"Hmmm…I see you have noticed Mr. Erogen, don't feel bad, all new female staff do, sha," Mrs. Cherri says. "He is a rather unique individual, owns a large home in Old Metairie but still prefers to stay here a few nights a week so he pays the hotel a hefty fee once a year to accommodate this preference. That alone makes me wonder about his sanity, not to mention his strange book collection and his family and friends. Sha, keep your fascination with this one afar, you have a good name so does your family, I worry only he could stain it." Mrs. Cherri grins and walks away. Right about now maybe he has heard the gossip or something, because the curtain in front of his eyes are gone and they are now piercing into me almost accusingly.

I have never been so nervous of an individual before For one he is obviously rich, even richer than my family. He could claim my job and any future reputation I was to have. I never thought that me, raised around the rich and powerful of good ole New Orleans, would find someone who could actually threaten me without saying a word. Mr. Erogen has, and with a face like his he has my permission to do so anytime. Now he was getting up from his comfy spot and walking swiftly towards my desk, beginning what may soon turn into a panic attack within me. His hair bounced along like a runway model's would during fashion week. He was the finest man I have ever seen, and probably older and thinking im a giddy young pest.

"Can I help you with something Miss Blackfjord, or should I call you Dorothy so u look less like a deer in headlights? You seem to be having trouble with something in my area as you seem to keep observing it? Did they not explain to you about the courtyard? The couches? The fountains…no wait…the heated colored pools? Tell me please so I can help you not to stare and ruin your vision."

I have officially never been so embarrassed and insulted. If my staring for a minute was so intrusive a nice command of stop would have sufficed, but no, a speech of that grand scale was apparently his way to seem more important and eloquent that little meager old me.

"Um, excuse me Mr.…."

"Erogen, Miss Blackfjord, Emile Cass Erogen".

"Mr. Erogen, I was only observing you as a guest, I was told to learn the regulars and their requests and to make them as comfortable as possible. You are a regular, yes? Well then, I guess I appeared to be doing my job too well, as it made you uncomfortable. I guess you may write down a list of needs with the words, DO NOT GAWK OR LONG AIRED SPEECH WILL FOLLOW, at the top to ensure perfect attendance of your needs and wishes will be given."

Ok so my job may now be in jeopardy, but I could not help it, he was all to cocky, and no one, and I mean no one, has ever made my head lower, neither will he. I notice his straight full lips twist into a grin, which suddenly caused more anxiety in me than his seriousness.

He stared at me, grin and piercing eyes. I felt my every breath, how I expanded and expelled with it. My hair scratching my neck, my annoying stiff shirt, I noticed everything, his focus on me made me. I understood why he must hate to be stared at, it makes you feel everything about yourself, itching to find the part of you that draws the stare. Everything about him drew one. He hesitated, almost about to speak, but then laughed and walked off. I watched his feet, the way they winded up the steps with precision and grace, just proper done right. For a complete stranger he drew the light out of the hanging lamps so that he could shine and shine only. Only a male God could do that by legend, and no male could.

I hit my bed with a weight equivalent to a stone, just hard and suddenly sinking in. I covered under every blanket I had, even with the sun coming up the cracks was still winter cold. I found the top of the roof in my dream within minutes, sleep had waited for me. My guide was waiting, silent, head down and shockingly distant. He shot off the roof without a warning but I seen a white skeleton hand of a cloud that had been molded beckoning me upward, so I jumped so as to not get too far behind him. We made it to the upper atmosphere rather quickly, the sun was so much closer and clearer in the daylight up high. He was still dim, pale, and for some reason, scary quiet. I went to speak, but his hand raised in hesitation, he wanted to speak, something was wrong.

"A woman can go to hell and back for a man, to show her love, it has happened before, my dear. Would you? "

I did not get this to be a statement but felt it was more important than a riddle, it was relevant. "Yes. If I loved him. Girls love guys and go through hell for them everyday I am no different. I just want it to be the right guy."

"I said….to hell and back not through, dear, this is important to realize. Hell on earth is different from what you mortals imagine Hell the underworld to be like. You need to realize this. Some already do.."

"Excuse me?...what are… ok you really are confusing me if Heaven and Hell really does exists no one HAS ever been there before because God would not allow of it, he wants his to believe on faith, not fact, to love blindly and know in the heart. So even by your terms you make no sense."

There was a cold laugh, and for the first time he lifted his hat, and head, and I seen him completely. Under the black hair was a young face though eyes that were almost tired and sick looking, even the green in them was like a sick gangrene. He was gorgeous, but in a truly frightening way. His jaw strong, pouting, serious mouth, thick brows, so serious.

"Dorothy, God is there and real, though sweetie, he is not the only one in this world, others are there and they see you. God may rule, but others are there as guardians, and you have gotten some attention from one that endangers you. One will harm you in unimaginable ways. This is certain if you are not more aware of your surroundings."

" I have not met any glowing, perfect God I'm innocent!" I shouted at him fearing he was upset, but just as I did, I felt the air turn less dense, he was making me fall. I braced myself, looking at him, and his eyes focused on me every emerald of his specks.

"The road to hell and back has been walked by the one who will bring harm to you. You are something of harm to this one as this one is to you."

My stomach fell after my body. I felt myself hit as I jumped awake in bed, sweating even in the cold. It was 2pm, I had actually been sleeping for a few hours. I jumped awake and to the shower to freshen up, not wanting to waste my first day of freedom before work.


	2. Chapter 2

Skinny Jeans, an Indian print sweater, leather jacket and scarf was a perfect trendy look for the quarter. I pulled my hair up and back into a sleek ponytail, grabbed my cons for good feet cover, and my entire uniform and makeup tote for work later.

The quarter was swarming with bold colors and loud music, always loud. I grabbed a bite at a café on Magazine Street before hitting the quarter for some shopping and fun. Such strange clothing my family would shudder at, mandatory for my new wardrobe. A bright shirt with creepy voodoo faces coral and lime green and royal purple decorating its skulls. A dress, A-line with sleeves and a turtleneck black and perfect in general. I found a shiny glittery light pink and grey vest to wear with it for a pop. Before breaking for some dinner before work, a dress shop called Le Fleur dis Paris caught my eye. Stepping in, I recognized it; I had been here a few months ago for my sister's formal. I looked at the dresses covered in plastic. Some bold and couture, runway definitely, with styles even too bold for New Orleans itself. Red crystals over silver satin, Blue streaks of glitter over canary yellow mermaid bottom, even one with black lace over lime green leather that was skinny and had a slit that would make J Lo blush or buy it, these dresses were Hollywood. Models with wallets deeper than the seas they crossed shopped here, and the elite of the area, my family, just never…me. I was rummaging through the racks when one caught my eye, and the sales woman took note, a good one, convincing me to buy it for my family's next ball I called my stepmom who was thrilled at the thought I was in there, and even more I bought something to where from somewhere besides the mall and of true class. I walked out embarrassed and a bit ashamed I broke my rule not to be my family. I stashed the dress and other bags in my car and drove and parked it at my job. Uniform in hand I changed in the staff restroom and hid my clothes under the front desk. Work was back.

An hour of the job in Mr. Erogen appears and orders his usual caramel macchiato coffee. I observe his mannerisms, the way his hands and the small coffee cup play with one another, hinting at boredom. His eyes are gleaming still, and every now and again they look up at me. I notice that the lights of the pool currently match the shine of his eyes; they are both a glowing soft blue. I feel those eyes on me like a hot flash, spreading in every direction from my heart.

Another hour goes by, and Mr. Erogen has gone up to his room for the night I am told by the server. The evening creeps by, I feel every cold breeze as the night begins to fall, and I see every leaf wind its way down in the wind. This is the slow start of the season, the cold of the start of a Louisiana winter. On break I order a pumpkin spice cappuccino to keep me warm for the rest of the night. As I return from break, I find a note; I am to call Mr. Erogen as soon as my shift ends in three hours. Midnight. This man will have been in that suite for five hours, God only knows what he has been up to for so long. Lights bounce off the walls surrounding the pool a thousand times or so it seems before the shift finally ticks away its last seconds. Here I come, though I don't know why, Mr. Erogen.

The walkway to Mr. Erogen's room is a cement step one surrounded by bushes of roses and sculptures. There is a lemon tree near the small corner near his door, maybe by his choice for fresh lemon. I knock on his door, nervous, cold, and yet still feeling my hot blood rush and speed up. Blue eyes, pale skin on a strong jaw, open the door. He is beautiful up close, like looking at the moon; he glows from afar but seems untouchable even up close. His black hair once again hiding a part of his ethereal face, I can't see all that is his otherworldly face.

"Miss Blackfjord, thank you for accepting my invitation for company tonight." He says, straight posture and open hand and arm stance. He escorts me in to the couch and coffee table, both a rich cherry color, though the couch is of deep warm leather. I find a soft spot in the couch and lean against a crimson velvet pillow.

"Why…Why did you invite me?" I asked softly, trying to contain my anxiety level, now reaching for panic size.

He stands near the bookshelf of hundreds of novels, old and new. "You seem promising, Miss Blackfjord…may I call you Dorothy? But I will explain later. I want to know more about you right now."

"Well, I'm nineteen, a college dropout, for now. I live in a small broke down house in a broke down but cool part of the city. My family is wealthy, but no, I am not a brat. Currently, I am a disappointment, actually. I am now your service desk girl trying to live, not sure what. And yes, you can call me Dorothy."

"Well then, Dorothy, I am Emile. Tell me about your childhood, something deeper and a little less sarcastic..."

"Are you a pedophile or something? I am going to hope not, I don't know open pedophiles who rent hotel suites for long periods of time…. I grew up here, enjoyed a lot of fancy parties, and went to a private catholic school full of snotty bitches my entire life span. I was polished and poised to be a socialite, but failed when I left college and cut my hair from classic to modern retro. I never liked the pageants they put me in as a child so I stopped as a teen. I have a stepsister who is the perfect example of who I should be. "

What's wrong with you?"

"I am not normal, I run from the good life."

"Maybe you ran toward a better life."

I feel my nerves again, I have no clue what exactly I am running towards, but he seems to think he does. I wonder about him, and I feel this man owes me far more of an explanation than I do to him.

So what was your childhood like?" I ask him boldly.

"I grew up in a castle, not on a famous mountain. I was spoiled since day one and adored by all. I am a sucker for games of the mental sort, have been since childhood. Books have been a love of mine since I became an adult; they are a fun way to view people. I love Love, but have only been in love once."

That was a weird description of a childhood. But I have to admit, the part about his love life had caught my attention.

"So…what was…he or she like?" I asked him quietly.

He nearly choked on his fresh macchiato. "SHE…" he laughed out, "was something to see for sure. Long dark brown hair and big blue eyes. She always kept her hair up until I told her how stunning it was when it flowed through free air. Men always did love her. It got her into trouble for a while. She was naïve, extremely dedicated, and timeless, and some of that she still is. Time just brought out her darker and more troublesome side, one of conceit. So we are no more."

He loved her, a lot. They were together for a long time, at least to him. Probably over five years. I can imagine some model of Vogue with an engagement ring on her finger from him, smiling with long hair, thick and ideal. I feel meager next to this; my thin, chestnut colored hair and hazel brown eyes are nothing that extraordinary. I am only 5"5, and I could be skinnier I guess. I am pale as Hell, like I had grown up down there.

"Dorothy, I am not a normal citizen, nor a person of American standards. I am rather different, and you need to know this before sticking around. If you do choose to stick around after hearing more about me, I can erase all of this from your memory, leave you as you were a day ago. I have you here because you have met a standard I have been looking for."

Ok, he is dangerous, maybe an illegal alien. I have hit his standard, what the hell? This is getting too creepy. I feel in danger, but I also have this weird feeling growing in me, too big for me to understand yet.

"What do you mean, tell me what?" I asked, this time with more anxiety slipping through my pout.

He sits near me, two books in hand. One of the Bible, the other of old Greek Mythology. "You believe in God? Do you believe someone with more than mortal power could exist without hard evidence?"

"Yes, I was taught to."

"Exactly…you were taught to believe in a singular God. Now follow me, there is a God, but I am also telling you there is more than one…"

"Are you Hindu?"

"No, Dorothy, I am not. I am ancient."

"….And what does that mean?"

"…I am older than the shadow man in your dreams, and he was right to warn you about me…"

I jumped back, how the hell he knew about my dream! Who was this freak?

"How did you know that? Who are you trying to say you are? What the hell!"

"Dorothy, I am a God, just not one in your Bible. I am in here." His hands push the book of Greek Mythology towards me, and opened it to a particular story I had heard of, Eros and Psyche.

I get it, he thinks he is a Greek god, the Greek god of matchmaking too. Eros, aka Cupid. "So, you are Eros, Aphrodite's son. Husband to Psyche." I state, unconvinced.

"Ex-lover of Psyche, we are no more; she has decided to have a dangerous inner struggle. And yes the story is true. So now I am here, looking for a type of someone for a type of situation."

"I thought you two were eternally married by Zeus? That she proved her love so well that you begged to be bound to her. She went to Hades for you, was that not enough? She went to Hell and back so you let her go?" I asked mockingly.

"She did all of it, and after many years with me wanted to be powerful outside of being with me. She wanted her own strength. She wants her own legend. Soul has been ripped from heart. Look at the world to see when. When did marriage die? When did love become more tragic than happily ever after? She left me and humanity felt the split. "

"And I am supposed to believe this, right? No drugs or anything?" I asked.

His hands held each other, and clenched. Slowly, they began to open, something glowing in the middle. There, between his now largely spaced open hands, a perfect gold arrow floated.

"The arrow of love, it is my weapon, my gift. Now, it is my proof."

I felt my head spinning; he had made something appear out of nothing, and of all things, an arrow. Looking down trying to steady myself, I looked at the Greek Mythology book. The pictures were moving, playing out. There, on the page in front of me, a figure of a beautiful woman stood at the Gates of Hades.

"So if I stay, I will know of a real Heaven and Hell?" I ask him, scared and confused.

"You may get to visit even if you prove useful. Nothing that deals with me has ever been easy, though, understanding that now." His blue eyes serious, maybe even a bit sad were looking at me.

I hold my breath, cautious with my next statement. "To Hell and back?" I asked.

"…To Hell and back", he says, his eyes sparkling with a new grin.

Tonight I will hear his story, and that of Psyche. I will hear why the perfect pair split, and somewhere in there find why he needs me now.


End file.
